


Affection Withheld

by Vera_dAuriac



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 19:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12139458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_dAuriac/pseuds/Vera_dAuriac
Summary: Louis goes to the front to see Philippe...who needs a hand. (Sorry)





	Affection Withheld

**Author's Note:**

> Set at some vague point post-S2 with a sort of minor spoiler for that season. 
> 
> Anyhow, this fic isn't going to set the world on fire; I know that. But life has been tough lately, and I haven't been writing, and this is what I could manage, and I really wanted to manage something.
> 
> I'm guessing there are typos. Feel free to tell me about them and I'll fix them.
> 
> Oh, and I don't own the characters, etc.

**by Vera d'Auriac**

 

The mood when Louis walked into camp was subdued. Exhaustion etched itself on every bowed face he rode past. “The fatigue of a hard-won victory, no doubt,” he assured himself, although he had yet to stop for a report on the day’s battle. He would get the report from his brother or no one. And it would be good news, Louis felt certain.

Twenty paces from his brother’s tent, Louis dismounted. He sent his groom off with his horse and scattered the useless officers and nobles who had sworn it would be an honor to accompany the king to the front to inspect the troops, as if all the truly honorable men were not already there. Louis knew they hoped the real honor would lay in the rewards they expected to “merit” for this service. But such was the nature of his nobles. It was also why he longed to see Philippe, the one person he could always trust. Because even when Philippe was at his most selfish and demanding, Louis always knew his motivations. Did Louis understand his own motivations as well, however? He had said to himself when he departed Versailles that he wanted to support his brother in any way he could, as a general and a man. Love and regret had frequently entered his thoughts of late, he believed due to the influence of Madame de Maintenon. And this new awareness most often focused on Philippe as he sensed that his actions toward his brother had too often fallen short of the affection he felt.

When he reached Philippe’s tent, Louis informed the men standing sentry not to disturb them under any circumstance. They nodded and whipped the flaps open, and a moment later when he stepped inside, they snapped closed behind him. Through the gloom, Louis watched Philippe wandering the oppressive space, not seeming intent on anything. Once Louis’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, he could see his brother well enough. Philippe spared him only the barest nod as he continued his pointless wanderings, his face more agitated and pale than usual. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides in rhythm with his jaw, his breath uneven and labored. Louis had seen a few men behave similarly after battle, and he began to suspect what his brother searched for. Had he not said he would help his brother in any way? But in this way? Yes, even in this way.

“I suppose you have a bottle of wine somewhere,” Louis said, leaning against a table buried under maps.

Philippe nodded, but did not break off from his nervous exertions to tell Louis where he might find the wine. Louis thought about looking, but he wanted none for himself, and there was not enough wine in camp to enervate Philippe the way he desired.

“The camp is quiet,” Louis said. “Too subdued for a major victory, but not sullen enough for a loss. Why don’t you tell me about it.”

“We repelled the attack. Our losses were….” Philippe left the thought unfinished while his pacing grew faster. After a ragged breath, he continued. “But his were worse. It was bloody and horrific, and I ache in body and soul.” His steps were now nearly frantic, and Louis feared he would soon hurt himself tripping over something.

“Brother.” Louis moved into Philippe’s path and reached out to stop him. Philippe was so blind to what was going on around him, he would have knocked Louis over had he not been ready for his brother’s weight. But once Philippe felt the pressure on his arm, he stumbled to a halt, leaning against Louis’s side. The warmth of his brother’s body against him reminded Louis of all of the affection he had ever withheld. Philippe needed him, and that was why he had come. Louis needed to do this as much for his own sake as his brother’s. He whispered, “Let me help you.”

Philippe pulled back with a perplexed laugh. “You cannot, brother. I…once I am utterly wearied, I will sleep.”

Louis probably had been too bold, but he could not leave Philippe thus. “Very well. You will not allow me to help. One of your—what do you and the Chevalier call them? Mignonettes?—came with me. Shall I send for him?”

For the first time since Louis entered, Philippe stopped absolutely. He did not so much as twitch or breathe. Louis suspected he had managed to shock his brother for the first time since they were little boys playing with their toys. But Louis was glad he had made both offers. He and Philippe had spent too much of their lives arguing and being at odds, too much time hurting each other. This journey was about atoning for those mistakes, and knowing what ailed Philippe, Louis would not shy away from his mission of easing that pain.

He was glad he, too, had been to war. The experience gave him firsthand knowledge of men’s varied, but understandable reactions, to battle. Without Jacques, he had been at a loss, but after undergoing his personal trial by combat, Louis knew without question what troubled his brother. Louis had witnessed other men storm about, looking for release. It had not been his reaction to the blood and death and screams, but he could recognize it in Philippe.

Most men who responded in this manner usually found one of the camp whores or a modicum of privacy behind a tree. But, of course, Philippe would never do either of those things. The whores would hold no appeal. And his own hand, well, Louis knew his brother’s bouts of self-loathing, and watching men die under his command would bring those feeling to the surface more surely than anything. And yet, Philippe needed the release, for his body and his mind. Louis would never make this offer to anyone else, but this was the brother he had sworn to love better.

While Philippe remained motionless, Louis stepped over to him. Louis brushed sweat-dampened curls off Philippe’s shoulder so he might caress his neck. Philippe remained still, but he exhaled, and for the first time, he looked directly at Louis. “I know what you need,” Louis whispered. “And I wish to give it to you.”

The pain in Philippe’s eyes looked soon to be followed by tears. Voice already cracking, he said, “No, Louis. For so many reasons, no.”

“Yes,” Louis answered, pressing closer so that his breath must have fluttered on Philippe’s cheek. “Your need is natural. Allow me to show you the affection and care I have too often denied.”

“Louis, no,” repeated Philippe. The only reluctance he showed was to close his eyes, but he did not shrink away. “It is a sin. Do not add the weight of my soul to my troubles.”

“How a sin? I am God’s chosen. I desire to comfort one of His children. I see no sin.”

Philippe sighed and leaned his face against Louis’s hand. “I do not deserve your love or God’s. Unnatural creature that I am. To want the things that I do, at the moments I want them. I do not love death, and yet….”

“And yet, when you see death, it increased your appetite for life.” Louis slipped his hand from Philippe’s cheek around to the nape of his neck and pulled them closer together. “Come live with me.” Louis gripped his brother’s stiff prick through his breeches.

Philippe’s moan was equal parts pleasure and discomfort. Louis doubted the latter had anything to do with spiritual turmoil and was strictly physical. “How long have you been thus?”

Philippe trembled as he shrugged. “The battle ended mid-afternoon. It’s what time now?”

Hours, then. Louis guided his brother to the bed. At some point, Philippe had removed his baldric and any other weapons and armor he wore into battle. But his only other concession to comfort was to undo a button or two at his throat. Louis brushed his lips across Philippe’s check and pushed the jacket from his shoulders. “Sit on the edge of the bed.”

Philippe followed Louis’s command. Louis knelt before him and caressed his brother’s thighs above the boots before pulling first one and then the other off. Philippe curled his stockinged feet onto the bed. But the gesture was more than a simple move to comfort—he was curling into himself and away from Louis.

“No, brother. Do not leave me now.” Louis swiftly kicked off his own boots and crawled behind Philippe at the head of the bed. Stretching his legs around either side of Philippe’s hips, Louis settled his brother against his chest. “Let’s get you more comfortable.”

Louis unfastened several buttons on Philippe’s embroidered black uniform and opened the shirt at his throat. He traced Philippe’s collarbone with the tips of his fingers and swept away the hair so that he might kiss just behind his brother’s ear. “Relax, brother, and let me care for you.”

Philippe sank into Louis at this invitation, his head dropping back onto Louis’s shoulder. “You should go. Send me the boy you spoke of. That would be better for everyone. I’m quite sure he has far more experience in this arena than you do. I don’t have the energy to instruct a novice.”

Louis’s hand came out of Philippe’s shirt and met his other at Philippe’s waistband. “I know you. You would send him away. You would rather suffer and punish yourself for imagined wrongs than find a moment’s peace. No, I am staying. And for what I intend, I promise that I require no instruction.” Louis set to work on the buttons with his fingers and Philippe’s neck with his mouth. In spite of his verbal protests, Louis could feel the surrender in his brother’s body. He would be able to give Philippe the love that he needed.

Breeches and underclothes loosened, Louis could slip his hand around his brother’s erection. As gentle as he tried to be, the noise he elicited from Philippe sounded more pained than happy. He had some idea what Philippe felt, although he had never gone so long without satisfaction. So Louis employed a gentle touch and began to move slowly up and down.

Philippe sagged deeper into Louis, his weariness complete. “Oh God. I assumed you would have had to do this so infrequently you’d be decidedly less adept.” He moaned lower, and for the first time, the sound held a stronger hint of joy than concern. “I don’t even care if I burn in hell for this,” he laughed, and yet tears leaked from the corner of his eye. “Make it better for me, brother. Please.” Philippe turned his head on Louis’s shoulder to kiss him on the cheek.

Louis gradually increased the speed and pressure, feeling the thrums of Philippe’s body and allowing that to guide him. Philippe trembled in his arms and panted against his face. And with every hitch in Philippe’s breath, every thrust of his hips into Louis’s fist, Louis could feel his brother becoming more himself. His beautiful, charming, fascinating self.

After finally relaxing into his embrace, Philippe began to tense in Louis’s arms. He knew his brother’s crisis was near, so Louis pulled him closer and tighter with his free hand. “I love you, brother,” he whispered before placing more soft kisses on Philippe’s temple.

“Oh God! Louis! I…I’m….” But Philippe could not articulate his thought before spending in an arc onto the side of the bed and the ground. Louis stayed with him throughout, until the last of Philippe’s seed trickled onto his own lap and Louis’s hand.

For a long moment they merely panted against one another, Louis only now realizing how lost he was in the moment as well. Eventually, Philippe nuzzled Louis’s chin and hummed. “Sorry. I tried to warn you I was, well, there’s a handkerchief in my pocket.”

Louis kissed the top of Philippe’s head and took out a handkerchief from his own pocket. “No need. Well, I suppose you will need to change breeches, but you probably wanted fresh clothes and a bath anyway.”

Philippe gasped. “A bath! That sounds glorious!”

His hand clean, Louis passed the handkerchief to Philippe. “Then I shall have one ordered for you immediately.”

Louis tried to shift and push Philippe up, but Philippe pushed Louis flush against the head of the bed. “Let me finish cleaning up a bit before we invite others into the tent. Most people would not understand.”

These final words were whispered, a hint of shame in the tone. Louis wriggled about so he might sit up and pull his brother up as well. Once Louis had Philippe’s eye, he said, “You are right. Most men do not understand what it is to be king or the most powerful duke in Europe. They do not understand the strain of leadership, or half the responsibilities that you and I carry every day. So, naturally, they do not understand the love we bear for one another. Or how we might show it.” Louis lightly pressed his lips to Philippe’s. “I would do this and more a million times for you, brother. I need you to know that.”

Philippe kissed him back with a rueful smile. “I know it, but no one would believe it of us.”

“And none of them matter. Now,” Louis fleetingly brushed his lips a final time over Philippe’s before leaping from the bed. “A bath. Let me see to it for you.”


End file.
